


You Make Me Happy (this you can bet)

by Thunder_Cakes



Series: Meet The Wilsons [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, M/M, Steve loves all Wilsons, domestic-ish?, happy birthday steve, its science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_Cakes/pseuds/Thunder_Cakes
Summary: All Steve wants for his birthday is to be with his family





	You Make Me Happy (this you can bet)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to sadieb798 for betaing
> 
> *** Edited 8/12/19

On his hundred and second birthday, Steve wakes in his happy place. He drifts into consciousness, first aware of Sam’s sleepy little huffs in his ear and his weight across his chest. The air conditioning is blasting, though Steve can barely feel it from under the thick blankets. Sam is sprawled out on top of the comforter, face wedged between Steve’s jaw and shoulder. His deep breaths come slowly, but the quirk of his lips alert Steve that he’s awake. His eyelashes flutter but don’t open and Steve can’t help but disturb him a little.

“So when are we heading ov-!” He’s cut off by Sam’s limp hand landing across his mouth.

“Nope. ‘msleeping. Shush.”

“Mmphfmn,” Steve tries to protest against his palm.

“No. Go get ready. Be up soon,” Sam moves his hand to pat Steve on the cheek, brushes a kiss across his lips and then roll over, the _five more minutes, Mom_ evident in the hunch of his shoulders.

Steve gazes at his back for a moment, sickeningly fond of this adorable man, before he drags himself into the bathroom. Waiting on the counter is a basket of Lush products and a note from his love, “Happy Birthday, baby. Treat yo’ self,” and a little doodle of a stick figure Steve assumes is supposed to be him, reclining in a bubble bath.

He smiles and flicks the switch on the small radio on the back of the toilet as he moves to turn on the water. Norah Jones trickles through the speakers, a soft song Steve recognizes from one of Sam’s many mixtapes. Mumbling a quick thanks to whoever is listening for his husband and his reverent skin care routine, Steve eases into the tub, picks a bath bomb at random and drops it into the water. The bubbles fizz against his skin and the heady lavender scent hits him, as he lays back and closes his eyes.

He must drift off for a while because the next thing he’s aware of is the hot water running again and Sam nudging him forward so he can slide in behind him.

“We’ve got 20 minutes before breakfast gets here,” Sam says into the nape of Steve’s neck as he dips a washcloth in the water and drags it up Steve’s chest. The chill of Sam’s wedding ring, worn on a chain around his neck, is a bit jarring compared to the heat of the warming water and Sam’s broad chest behind him.

“A whole 20 minutes, huh?” Steve asks, running his hands up Sam’s legs, squeezing them gently. He loves this, being bracketed by Sam, surrounded by him. He can’t help but press back into him, grinding his hips in little circles, urged on when Sam drops the cloth and all pretense of doing anything but fondling Steve’s tits.

“Wonder how we could fill the time,” Sam rasps as he takes Steve’s ear lobe between his teeth and nudges the faucet off with his toe. Steve reaches around and pulls Sam’s mouth to his own.

———

After the two have rinsed off, Steve is up and ready to go, pulling the plug, wrapping a towel around his waist and holding one open for Sam to step into.

“Really, man? No afterglow? Not even a cuddle?” He smirks as he rises from the quickly draining water.

“I’ll cuddle you later. We gotta go,” Steve says smiling softly but shaking the towel towards Sam, urging him to move faster.

“How romantic,” Sam snorts and takes the towel, kissing Steve on the nose and reaching for the shea butter. He hands it to a sheepish Steve, “you better use this first. Wouldn’t want to show up ashy again.”

Steve scrunches up his face, but doesn’t argue, taking the jar and leading the way back into their bedroom. There’s a sizable box sitting on the bed, an obnoxious red, white, and blue bow stuck to the top. Steve opens his mouth to protest but Sam cuts him off.

“Don’t want to hear it. It’s your birthday,” an hand snakes around Steve’s wrist, tugging him down to sit next to the gift. When he doesn’t reach for the box, Sam nudges it towards him, his voice a soft reproach, “you’re always giving to the rest of us. Let us celebrate you a bit.”

“But we gotta get to-”

“Gifts first, Steve.”

“Gift _sss_. As in plural?”

“Steven Grant Wilson. Open your goddamn gifts.” Sam demands.

Steve acquiesces, pretending that he doesn’t still melt at the sound of his new name and pulls the bow off the box and sticks it to Sam’s bare chest. He gets a little distracted, fingering the chain with Sam’s ring, until Sam bats his hand away and reaches for the shea butter.

Steve opens the box and can't help but sigh with a small smile. Inside is a collection of trinkets from his favorite people. There’s a handful of nips of vodka with Russian labels. One of them has a tag that reads “to put some hair on your chest” and is signed with a small spider. There’s an unlabeled box of watercolor pencils that he knows without asking is from Bucky, wherever he may be. There is a roll of bright purple hand wrap for sparring and boxing from Sharon, and a book about the history of memes from Peter.

Steve runs his hands over the gifts, touched that his friends knew better than to give him anything ostentatious. He reaches for his phone, eager to thank his friends, but is immediately distracted by the sight of a nude Sam, standing with one foot on the bed and absentmindedly moisturizing his legs.

Steve can call his friends later.

\-----

After they’ve devoured breakfast (and each other), the two get dressed and load up the car.

As Sam drives, Steve finds himself fiddling with the radio, readjusting his seatbelt and double and triple checking the stack of pies in the back seat. When he realizes he’s picking at the peeling leather on his seat, he forces his hands to still, folded in his lap. Sam is watching out the corner of his eye, not even trying to hide his amusement. Steve mostly ignores him, but can’t repress the embarrassed smile on his lips.

“So I’m a little excited,” he huffs.

“It’s okay, babe. I know you’re a Mama’s boy,” Sam reaches over and pats Steve’s thigh.

“Pfft, and you aren’t?”

“That’s not what I said,” Sam quips as he leans on the horn, fighting to merge in the New York traffic.

“You know, we could have flown,” Steve teases.

Sam scoffs, “I am not carrying your heavy ass and the absurd amount of food you insist on bringing all the way to Harlem. I’m too old for that shit.”

“ _You’re_ too old?” Steve gasps.

“Oh here we go,” Sam mutters under his breath.

“When I was your age, I could carry six Howlies on my back across of 15 miles of French underbrush. In the snow!” Steve scolds, finger wagging and the Brooklyn bleeding through.

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes the finger out of his face. “When you were my age, you were sleeping under polar bear poop, Grandpa.”

Steve ignores him. “And where was this ‘I’m too old’ crap when you were dive bombing UFOs last week, huh? Keep that same energy.”

“What? Where did you-? You are not allowed to talk to Peter anymore. Or Shuri.” Sam adds when Steve opens his mouth. “I’ll keep whatever energy I damn well please.”

Steve sticks up his nose as they pull onto the now familiar street, packed with cars. “Told you we’d be late.”

“Uh-uh. Don’t put that on me. You’re the one who wanted a round two after you watched me lotion up, you perv.”

Steve and his selective hearing practically leap from the car the moment it rolls to a stop. He swings the back door open, scoops up his dozen pies and stalks to Darlene Wilson’s front door. He listens to the sounds of a dozen Wilsons moving through the house as he presses the doorbell with his elbow and certainly doesn’t hear his husband grumbling about his eager ass leaving him to park and carry in most of the food on his own.

The door swings open and Gideon leans against the frame looking unimpressed and eyeing Steve up and down.

“Who is it, Gid?” a voice calls from the living room.

Gideon smirks. “No one important. Just Sam and his white boy,” he calls back.

Steve rolls his eyes and brushes past his brother-in-law, bumping his shoulder as he goes.

It took awhile for Gideon's attitude to shift from suspicious to brotherly teasing, but Steve couldn’t exactly blame him for not trusting the hundred-year-old white guy his brother brought home. It happened slowly, but their dynamic wasn’t all that different from Sam and Bucky’s now that he thinks about it.

“Not important? I don’t see anyone throwing you a parade,” he throws over his shoulder.

“That parade was for Captain America, you has-been! Sam, tell your boy that no one cares about Nomax, or whatever his new name is now.”

Steve ignores Gideon and Sam’s snickering in the foyer, smiling at the crowd in the living room as he pushes towards the kitchen.

Darlene is at the stove, stirring something that smells heavenly and keeping a close eye on the three small children coloring and cutting something at the table.

“Oh Steve, Honey,” she waves him closer and opens her arms. Steve all but drops the pies on the counter and wraps himself in her arms, buries his face in her hair. All of the leftover tension leaks out of his body and he takes a breath to hold back the tears.

“Hi, Ma” he mumbles into her hair.

“Well lemme see you, baby.” She squeezes him tighter before pulling back and holding his face between her palms. “Happy Birthday, darlin'. One hundred and two! You’ve grown up so fast.” She grins and brushes her fingers across the crow's feet just beginning to form at his eyes. He laughs lightly and hugs her again; glad to be home. He steps back a moment later, feeling the air shift behind him and knowing that Sam has entered the room.

“Hi Mama,” Sam grins as he comes in for his own hug.

Now that he’s seen their matriarch, Steve's free to greet the rest of the family. He starts to say hi to the children at the table but they make a huge show of hiding their art project under their shirts and running from the room yelling “Hi Uncle Steve! Bye Uncle Steve!” as they go.

He laughs and follows them back into the living room, hugging and kissing Sam’s many cousins and aunties. The house is overflowing with Wilsons, from Darlene’s eldest sister Carol, down cousin Britianna’s nine-month-old, Dallas.

As usual, Steve can’t make it out of the back door without a baby on his hip and two slightly larger children wrapped around his legs. On the porch, he hands Dallas to her father, and shakes Mahogany and Jeremiah off his shins, encouraging them to go play with their cousins. Which cousins doesn’t particularly matter, since there are about twenty running around the backyard. Most pay him no mind, but a few stop and wave or call out “Happy Birthday,” before returning to their game. Steve makes small talk with cousin Patricia and Sarah’s partner Will and plays with Taylor, Wills’ bashful toddler. Sam eventually finds him and the two recline on a lawn chair that is absolutely too small for the two of them as Taylor crawls over, under and between their legs.

“Aye, Steve!” Gideon calls from across the yard. He’s standing with his teenage daughter, Iyanna, snickering at something on her phone. “Twitter says white people don’t wash their legs. You wash your legs, don’t you?”

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes but Steve just shrugs, “No, not often.” He waits until Gideon’s nose scrunches up in distaste before he quips “Your brother usually does them for me,” reveling in the shock on Gideon’s face and Sam choking on his beer.

Patricia and Will crack up over at the grill and a stern voice rings out from behind them all.

“Steven! Are you being nasty in front of my baby?”

He turns at the sound of Sarah’s voice and looks down at said baby balancing across his lap. “Gideon started it!”

“Aren’t you a little old to humour his BS, Steve?” she jokes as she bends to kiss both Sam and Steve on the cheek and scoop up her child, laughing at Steve’s pout.

“Oh now, you don’t want to talk about being old,” Sam eyes him. “What happened to ‘Keep that same energy’?”

Steve scoffs and rises from the lounge chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m going to go make our plates,” he lifts his nose and glides over to the buffet table.

“Ohhh, he’s making your plate? Must be getting serious,” Sarah drones from her chair.

“Oh yeah, cause it wasn’t the rings or the wedding or saving the world ten times over that said that,” he matches her tone. But there’s some truth in his words as he watches Steve laugh with Uncle Darren about the Knicks latest catastrophic loss as he fills their plates. The superhero stuff is great and the wedding was the best day of his life, but this? The way Steve has just slid right into Sam’s family, embraced them as his own?

There’s nothing like it.

As the sun begins to set, Steve and Sam take over the kid's entertainment so the adults can set up dessert and get ready for the fireworks. They help the kids catch fireflies, play four games of Simon Says and have a hula hooping contest. Once, they meet eyes across the circle of children and know it's time to take another look at those adoption applications.

When the fireworks start, the kids are all tuckered out and lounging on blankets, staring wide-eyed at the sky. Steve, sitting at one of the picnic tables is looking up as well and doesn’t notice the commotion by the sliding glass door until people start singing. Sam’s arm slides around his waist as Darlene and Iyanna carry an absurdly large sheet cake. Mahogany and Jeremiah come behind them, armed with brightly colored construction paper, covered in glitter and Captain America stickers.

Steve looks around at the sea of grinning faces, feels Sam at his side, gripping his hip and singing in his ear. He looks up at his Ma, his siblings and his cousins. He’d never had a large family; he’d once just hoped he would live long enough to be Uncle Steve to Bucky’s children.

But this? He never even thought to hope for this.

Steve tears up as he looks across the table at his family, and blows out the obnoxiously large 1, 0, and 2 candles. He doesn’t make a wish, he just takes a moment to take it all in. The children’s laughter, Darlene’s hand on his shoulder, Gideon’s grumbling that his cakes are never this big, the weight of his wedding band on his hand, and the warmth of Sam pressed against his side.

It’s going to be a good year.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Before I Let Go” by Maze (remix by Queen B), the ultimate cookout song 
> 
> There may be a plan for a prequel about Darlene and Steve and maybe a wedding, if y’all want it.


End file.
